errands

Today I went to the computer store, the pet store, the grocery store, and the drug store. By the time I got to the grocery store I was regretting the cup of tea and two glasses of water I'd consumed before setting out and I just couldn't wait any longer. Through the "Employees Only" swinging doors I went, past the produce crates, up the stairs, and through the break room to "LAdiES." As it turns out, the self-proclaimed Bathroom Bandit had gotten there first and had left behind her a string of platitudes. And because I'm a modern woman with modern technology in my pocket, I took some pictures of her work. Upon returning to the produce section (thoughtful and forever changed) I noticed a display of strawberry glaze that just took my breath away in its resemblance to my aforementioned bag of Shiraz, or maybe something poisonous, so I took a picture of that too. Red things in bags are always interesting, don't you think?

mall

I went to the mall today. I found myself thinking, "I'm so glad I'm not one of those people who goes to the mall." When I got home I realized that I didn't purchase the correct item on my first trip, so I had to go again. But at least I'm not one of those people.

housekeeping

Was picking up the house tonight. Another installment in an unending cycle. I'm going to write a book about it someday. I will call it A Million Little Pieces of Crap. Subtitled Nearly All Plastic. In parens (Nearly None Mine).

Though most little pieces in my house seem to be made of plastic, I will devote one chapter to items made of organic material (or at least not obviously made of plastic). In that chapter I will address socks and underwear, which fall under the sub-category Fabric Crap on the Floor. I will also comment on blue toothpaste and semi-evaporated urine in the sub-category Sticky Crap in the Bathroom. Peanut butter, jelly, and matter resting between the garbage bag and bottom of the can will be explored in the sub-category Sticky Crap in the Kitchen. And finally, I will comment on matters pertaining to litter boxes, which, along with birthday party favors, fall under Crap Made of Shit.

Publication date pending.

Near Miss

If you had left work ten minutes earlier

I would have made it to my yoga class on time

You would have walked in the door
At 5:15 instead of 5:25
And sat with our son and his summer fever
While I sought inner peace for 60 minutes
In Community Room 3

If you had gotten home ten minutes earlier
I wouldn’t have had time to work up a lather
Watching for your car to pull up
And we wouldn’t have argued about your lateness
And those damn baseball cards you bought

By 5:50 I would have been breathing
And sweating and shaking
Through Triangle Pose and Side Plank and Warrior One
And dying for Corpse Pose
To put an end to it all

I wouldn’t have admitted defeat at 5:55
And turned my car toward home
Just shy of my destination
Too late for a graceful entrance
And too mad for inner peace anyway

I wouldn’t have walked back in the door at 6:25
And told you I was going for a walk
Alone
And that I’d bring my phone
But don’t call me (unless his fever gets worse)

I wouldn’t have crossed the street
And ducked into the woods
Where no one could see me
Except whatever it was with the long black tail
That slipped into the undergrowth

If you had gotten home earlier
I wouldn’t have walked past that fallen tree beside the path
Roots exposed as they never intended
Toes in the air, dangling clumps of dirt
Spilling their secrets like an outed lover

I wouldn’t have emerged, swatting flies
Into the field of close-cropped stubble
Dirty blond with dusty breath
Cutting my ankles
And coating my shoes with powdered earth

I wouldn’t have felt, without a moment’s warning
Sun and rain falling equally on my shoulders
A freak cloud in a cloudless sky
Washing and drying in one efficient step
My hair, my cheeks, my legs, my back, my arms

I wouldn’t have sought out the fishing pond
Just past the field
Where I took our son when he was not yet two
Where we threw grass and sticks and leaves and flowers
For hours, to watch them float away

I wouldn’t have remembered carrying him
When it was time to go
Away from the pond, across the field, against his will
Enraged and thrashing (he has his mother’s temper)
Until he fell asleep in the woods, in my arms

If you had been on time
I wouldn’t have recalled his baby hair, shining copper in the sun
Pressed against my cheek
And plastered to his forehead
With the sweat of so much effort

I wouldn’t have smiled
To think of his gorgeous fury
A brand new will
Pitted against the incomprehensible constraints
Of an old world

I wouldn’t have laughed to think of my own indignation
When the fortification of clock and calendar
By now old and trusted friends
Were breached against my will
And I was forced to slip outside and have a look around

I wouldn’t have sat on that bench by the pond
Alone, in the sun and rain
With cuts on my ankles and dust on my shoes
With roots and sticks and fury and its aftermath
On my mind 

If you had left work ten minutes earlier
I wouldn’t have remembered
How to walk away
And I wouldn’t have known when
And why to walk back

O+?

It just occurred to me... Now that people other than myself know about this blog, I really ought to update it more than a few times per year. I'll probably alternate the serious posts with the silly, the short with the long, and meaningful with the meaningless. So keep checking, you never know what you'll find! Like this photo, for instance. How many of you good people identified it as a half-used bag of O+ blood? I'm sorry, but the correct answer is Shiraz.

I'm both proud and ashamed to say I've recently begun buying my nightly wine in boxes, rather than bottles. It's cheaper, it apparently creates less waste, and I love how the wine comes out really fast when you press the button. It even makes bubbles sometimes. And since I'm not terribly picky, I don't mind the limited (yet growing) selection of boxed wines. On the other hand, where there is a box, there is a bag, and a bag is decidedly less elegant than a bottle. This evening I discovered that the box portion of my wine package had somehow become soaked with the liquid portion, so I had to to discard the cardboard and salvage the bag. Gosh, the bag. What can one say? It certainly takes the romance out of red wine. And to quote Forrest, Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that.

discovering what i think

I once heard someone introduce an author as someone who "writes for the pleasure of discovering what he thinks." I thought that was a beautiful way to sum up what the writing process is all about. It's not all pleasure of course, but I find that astounding personal growth—and the satisfaction of having grown—is often as much a product of writing as the written piece itself.

Today I turn to writing because I long to feel better. I hope the critical thinking that writing requires will help me grow and feel better, even if just a little. Also, I find that having to extract thoughts from my own head and say them "out loud" sometimes demystifies them. Things that seem so important and true within the labyrinth of my mind are often exposed for the folly they are when I bring them out for show and tell. I recently learned a beautiful line from the play Macbeth. As Macbeth ponders his wish to kill the king and gain the throne for himself, he says "Stars, hide your fires! Let not light see my black and deep desires." Only I desire the opposite: I want to bring my darkest fears and weaknesses out of myself so that they whither in light-saturated reality.

next painting?

Seed pods nicked from a tree in front of my son's school last week. I was transported by their systematic yet wild beauty. Trans. Ported. I'm still not sure how I will approach the painting stylistically, but I have a few ideas I'd like play with. There seems to be a lot of room for experimenting with paint application and texture. First some sketches to get a feel for the pods, stems, tendrils, highlights, textures, and shadows. Then I will play with the paint. I wonder what will happen. I wonder if "god" will decide to show up in my paint the way he lives in the thing itself. I'm planning to work both from photographs and the real thing. The photos are mostly a reference point for the light patterns I'm aiming for and to keep a record of the pods in case my small son finds them on my shelf and decides to explore their inner nature. Nothing gold can stay; it's best to be prepared.

Follow-up note: I did paint this as a still-life and will try to post a photo of the painting soon. I treated this painting as an exercise in thinking about light. Very enjoyable process.